


Burnt Sugar

by xodracovius



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Drug Addiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xodracovius/pseuds/xodracovius
Summary: Will Herondale is intoxicated by Jem Carstairs. And there’s nothing he can do about it.
Relationships: Jem Carstairs/Will Herondale
Kudos: 39





	Burnt Sugar

Burnt sugar.

The small shop reeked of the putrid smell, drawing a grimace out of the man as he eased through the seemingly endless rows of werewolves. They seemed like clones; each one was pale and thin, with silver tones dominating every feature from the hair upon their heads, to the frail and chapped lips, to the tired eyes struggling to stay open as they continued their tedious work. Smoke was thick in the air. The warlock woman, no doubt the ring leader in this production, turned her attention to the young man, grinning from behind her pipe.

“Back for more already?” She rasped, coughing a silvery smoke from her lungs. Her voice was a low drawl laced with a sort of satisfaction, a smugness that made Will want to pull out his  _ adamas  _ sword and slice her in two. He was her best customer, that Will was sure of. Though  _ yin fen _ was popular among the Downworlders that ruled the back alleys and dark haunts of London, no one came to visit Madam Morelli as much as William Herondale. Though she hated the company of Nephilim, she couldn’t quite find reason to complain, as this was their deal. William could come as often as he needed to fetch his “medication” - as he called it - for Jem, and he wouldn’t raid the spot with his other pesky Nephilim friends. It made for good business and kept her operation safe, two things she valued in her clientele.

“Shove off, Pauline.” The man answered gruffly. Her slitted pupils stared into his eyes as she licked her lips with a snake-like tongue that made him shudder in disgust and avert his gaze.

“You never want to have any fun.” She feigned offense, though her grin would not budge from her face. Will’s anger was slowly rising; he did not like being here, in fact he wished he could stop coming altogether and would not come if Jem’s body did not need this plague of a drug. Yet here was this cocky warlock testing his patience, making his blood boil and his fingers twitch at his sides, aching to grab his seraph blade from its secure place in his gear belt. 

“I’m not here for fun.” He scoffed. “I need double the amount this time.” He muttered, pulling out a small coin purse and setting it on the table. The warlock eyed the purse warily. Taking another drag from her pipe she emptied the coins onto the dusty desk, taking her time to count each one out. In her peripherals, the man was tapping his fingers anxiously against his thigh. She was making him nervous. Good.

“So tell me…” She purred out, smiling widely. “This...addict of yours-”

“Jem isn’t an addict.”

“Ah, so the mystery patient has a name!” She gasped. “Jem, then. Do they… rely on my product? How deep is it?”

The man growled and made a reach for the bag of powder, to which the warlock jerked back and laughed. “Ah ah ah, Shadowhunter, no talk, no candy. Now, tell me.”

Will sighed impatiently. “He needs it to live. Has since he was a boy.” 

“Ah. And how did such an… impressionable child get their hands on such a powerful drug?” She smiled. Will shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood for games, nor did he wish to engage in small talk. Time was ticking, and it was not on Jem’s side. He had to be at the Institute as soon as possible and this warlock’s incessant need to pester him made his anger rise in ways that not even the worst of people, not even Gabriel Lightwood himself, could manage to do. Eyeing her carefully, Will grabbed his stele, raising his sleeve to activate a few of his runes. He chose carefully; Swiftness, Agility, Strength, Calm Anger. The angelic magic glowed against his skin and with a sigh and a roll of his shoulders, Raziel’s power flowed through him.

The warlock didn’t know who she was dealing with.

The coins clattered to the floor as Will dove over the table, toppling the warlock over and onto the ground. She made to scream, but he pressed his seraph blade against her throat, pressing into the fine scales that resided there. 

“Let us make one thing clear, Pauline.” were the first hissing words from his mouth, “I am not a toy here for your entertainment. We may have an agreement, and one I aim to uphold as I am an honorable man, but the life of my friend resides in the very drug that upholds our bargain.” He pressed the sword harder and with a satisfied grin watched a sliver of blood drip from the golden skin his blade rested on. “So, if you continue to waste my  _ very _ precious time for personal gain, I will not hesitate to upturn this vile establishment and leave you and your poor den of infected werewolves to rot. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” She gasped out weakly. Will smiled, a charming smile that could woo the woman had she not been under the precarious life-and-death situation she was currently in, and stood. He wiped his blade carefully on his gear pants and grabbed the bag of  _ yin fen _ from its place on the desk. The woman sat up shakily, watching as the man pocketed his blade and began making his way to the front of the den. 

“Have a good evening, Madam Morelli. Pleasure doing business with you!” He called, waving a ringed hand as he walked out into the cold darkness of London.

♡♡♡

Jem was a beautiful sight when he was asleep. Lying in his bed, silver hair splayed carelessly about his pillow as soft breaths exhaled into the quiet room, Will wondered if Jem knew how effortlessly lovely he looked. The moon’s glow acted as a spotlight, emphasizing some of Jem’s less appreciated features. The silver eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, the silverish glow of his skin that made it appear as if he was an otherworldly creature, a celestial being whose splendor was simply too ethereal to be of earthly creation. His pale lips, slightly pinked by the constant chewing - a nervous habit of Jem’s - and his beautifully slender body, though weakened by the drug in his veins, showed the obvious fruits of their hours in training. His lovely hands, calloused by years of violin playing and the carrying of swords and knives. The left had beautiful swirls of black across it, his Clairvoyance rune a stark contrast to his pale skin. His arms, exposed by the shifting of the blanket, carried rune after rune and in the back of his mind, Will could hear Jem in Runes Study, whispering the name of each symbol as he studied the Gray Book with a dedication Will could only appreciate from his Jem. 

Jem shifted again and Will paused in his silent trek to his bedside. Jem’s eyes fluttered open. Silver met ocean blue. A smile slowly grew upon Jem’s lips and he stretched slightly, sitting up.

“William?” Will closed his eyes.

“Yes, James?”

“Were you watching me sleep?” The lilt of Jem’s voice gave away his obvious amusement. He wasn’t bothered or uncomfortable. Had it been anyone else, perhaps. Yet it was Will, his Will, the Will he knew so intimately. 

“Did I wake you?” Will evaded the question so easily, as if it was second nature to the man at this point. Jem couldn’t help but laugh. It was a quiet laugh, a breathy sound only for Will’s ears. 

“So you were.” Jem said without missing a beat.

“How did you-” 

“I know you all too well, William.” Jem waved a dismissive hand and patted the bed beside him. “I didn’t hear you enter, if you must know.”

Will took his place beside Jem and handed him the pouch of  _ yin fen _ , watching with a keen eye as Jem emptied the drug into the silver box resting on his bedside table. “I had to make sure you were alright. This morning was terrible, I worried for you.”

Jem laughed again, this time a more bitter one as he took a pinch of the silver powder, dropping it into his mouth and licking his lips to rid himself of the taste. “I know. I couldn’t move for hours. Did you miss me in training?”

Will brushed a small strand of silver hair back behind Jem’s ear. “Of course I did, no one else compliments my fighting style like you do.”

“That is why we are parabatai, my dear William.”

“I see sickness does not hinder your ability for witty responses.” He sniffed in distaste. By this point Jem had pulled Will into bed beside him, allowing the minimal space between them to dissipate. He rested his head on Will’s chest, listening to the heartbeat of his love with a quiet sigh. Will was comforting to him in this state, where his anger for the world had simmered down to nothing more than a silent brooding. But more than that, Jem enjoyed when Will became pliant to his touch, allowing Jem’s soft voice and soothing words to meld him like a skilled glassmaker would an ornate glass; he would grow quiet, would shrink away from his unfounded thirst for danger and would be content in the calm waters of life. In this comfort, Jem and Will were not James Carstairs and William Herondale, Parabatai and powerful Shadowhunters, but just Jem and just Will, two boys in love who would take on the world if it put a smile on the other’s face. 

This Will would lie in bed and admire as Jem played his violin, letting the sound serenade him into a dreamy state. This Will would sit by the fire with Jem and discuss the books he read, animatedly describing his love and hatred for characters and plots, cursing the age’s writers for their horrid writing skills. Sometimes, Jem could imagine they were Mundanes, if only for a time, and could pretend they were in a world that would not rip them apart at the very seams. Jem could close his eyes and listen to the steady thump of Will’s heartbeat, as he was doing in this moment, and imagine there was not a drug in his vein, imagine there were no demons threatening to unravel the very delicate balance his fellow Nephilim fought to keep. 

This Will could love him freely.

Jem opened his eyes. The moonlight no longer dominated his bedroom; the glow was golden, evidence of the slow-rising sun against the horizon. Will’s breath was still even, his heart was still beating at a steady pace. Jem smiled and sat up, pushing an elbow into Will’s ribs as he did so.

“Hhhnnnggg…”

“I think it’s time you brush up on your demonic languages, Will.” Jem teased with a loving fondness.

“Shove off.” Came the grumbled reply, yet Will opened his eyes. Ash met azure. Twin smiles graced mouths. Kindred souls intertwined once again, creating a tension unbreakable and winding tighter with every second.

Burnt sugar.

The scent clouded Will’s senses. It created a haze in his mind, filling his mind with daydream after daydream of Jem. Jem in his arms. Jem embracing him in one of his bone-crushing hugs. Jem cooking breakfast while laughing with Sophie, the pair of them discussing Gideon and Will and their nonexistent ability to flirt. Jem reading in the library, smoky eyes glancing up at Will behind the pages every few minutes, often catching his gaze. Jem covered in ichor, hair damp from the rain, loud laughter making London’s dead streets feel all the more alive. Jem laying beside him. Jem’s violin. Jem’s calloused hand in his.

Jem’s lips upon his.

Will moved as if in a trance. He pulled himself into an upright position, eyes still staring intently into Jem’s. The latter was frozen - it seemed as if time had stopped - as Will lifted a hand, cupping onto Jem’s cheek gently. His skin was warm. His cheeks had begun to grow a rosy red, his lips parted slightly, and Will wondered what Jem’s kiss would taste like. So he drew closer, pushed Jem back gently to lay on the bed and crawled over him.

Will kissed him.

A soft “mmph!” rose from the back of Jem’s throat, drowned out by Will’s lips descending onto his with a gentle fervor. He rested a hand by Jem’s head, sinking slightly into the mattress, the other keeping a firm yet loving hold on his jaw. 

Jem was still frozen. Will pulled back. The trance was broken.

“Fuck.” He gasped, stumbling back and moving farther across the bed. “Fuck, Jem, I’m sorry, I’m so-”

Jem’s lips were on his.

Jem kissed much differently than Will did. He was confident, sure of his movements, a polar opposite to the shy and careful boy Will had come to know over the years. He moved with dedication, swiftly tangling a hand into Will’s hair, pulling him up and closer and  _ hell _ Will was caught in his web, there was no denying it now. His lips were soft, Will noted as he kissed back, and his taste… it was imprinted in the back of his mind, a stamp burned in to remind Will of who had a hold on him. 

Burnt sugar.


End file.
